


Grabbing What Happiness You Can

by strawberriesandtophats



Series: Disaster Management has always been their forte [1]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Character Analysis, Kissing, M/M, On-Again/Off-Again Relationship, Period-Typical Homophobia, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 13:19:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7106488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberriesandtophats/pseuds/strawberriesandtophats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem with his relationship with Jakes, which currently consisted of shared glances during cases, their shoulders brushing frequently as they walked down the streets and furtive touches when they were alone during stakeouts, was that it was illogical to pursue it. And yet they did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theCopperCow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theCopperCow/gifts).



> This fic occurs after the first episode of season 3, but before the second episode.

Sergeant Jakes and Constable Morse dragged the young boy out of the burning wood house, coughing and gasping for air as they stepped out the front door. The house was unsalvageable and already collapsing onto itself as the fire spread. The young boy had been the only witness in this harrowing murder case, and they had been tasked to keep him safe in his home. They hadn’t realized that the murderer was hiding in the attic, as they hadn’t found him after searching the area including the house for several weeks. Morse and Jakes had practically broken down the door when they’d realized that the murderer was inside as they saw the first whisper of smoke coming from the hallway window when they stepped out of Thursday’s car. The fire spread quickly. It was an old wooden house with mostly wood furniture and faded rugs on the floors. The suspect had already left the house.  
The smoke had assaulted their lungs and senses, blurring their vision and making their eyes sting with tears. Morse pushed away smoldering furniture, tearing through the house in search of the boy, screaming his name.

“Jakes!” he had heard himself scream as he saw the little kid hiding underneath the kitchen table. Morse’s knees had hit the linoleum floor as he reached for the boy, who was staring at him like he was a ghost. Tears were running down the boy’s eyes, and his whole frame was shaking.

“It’s going to be all right,” Morse had said, trying his best to sound reassuring, “We’re going to get you out of here. I’m Constable Morse.”

“Like a cop?” asked the boy, taking hold of Morse’s much larger hand in his. 

“Yes,” Morse said, helping him stand up. “Let’s get you outside, okay?”

There was a horrific crash from another part of the house as the upper floor gave out and beds and dressers broke as they hit the living room floor. Morse could hear footsteps over the crackling of the fire, his eyes watering in the smoke filled room. He could hear the sirens of even more police cars and what he hoped was the fire brigade. 

Jakes was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, eyes wild as he stared at Morse and the child. Morse could feel Jakes grabbing him by the arm, the sensation of his fingers digging into the flesh a distant one as they began to move as fast as they could towards the door. The house was collapsing onto itself and they ran towards the entrance, each holding the boy’s hand in his own. They gasped for air as soon as they stepped outside, blinking as their eyes adjusted to the darkness. Morse felt Thursday push them away from the house as the boy was carried towards a group of people Morse couldn’t see very clearly. 

He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, coughing a bit as Jakes dragged him away from the fire and towards a small bench on the edge of the sidewalk on the other side of the road.

With the boy safe in Doctor DeBryn’s hands, Morse let himself flop down on a nearby bench besides Jakes, who was already inspecting his clothes for damage. There were soot smudges on Jakes’s face and hands and his hair was all over the place. Some part of Morse was faintly surprised that it hadn’t caught fire with all that product in it. There was a rose bush in bloom on each side of the wooden bench, and the aroma of wild roses was pleasant even though the stench of smoke and ash was still lingered. Morse breathed in, trying to focus on the roses and Jakes’ presence instead of the images of the house burning around them.

“Well done,” Thursday said, looming over them with this hat in his hands and looking pleased. “It’s about time that things turned out well for us.”

For a brief moment, the inspector’s eyes lingered on Jakes’ face, who was huffing about the state of his shoes, which were blackened with soot. 

“Yes, sir,” Morse managed, trying to ignore the chaos around them as police officers and firefighters ran around, doing their jobs. He was aware that his breathing was wonky and just how clear the air was outside the house. 

“We managed to catch the fellow hiding away behind a shack, watching the house burn. He’s told us that there was another man who called the shots and given us his description. Bright’s already sent men to search the area. Just rest up and stay here, both of you.”

Jakes nodded, elbowing Morse in the side when he didn’t agree right away. 

“Of course,” Morse said, watching the uniformed officers and their superiors interviewing the small boy and his parents.

Thursday nodded at both of them, his head already turned to listen to something Bright was saying and then their boss hurried towards a group of policemen and firefighters as if he was preparing himself to stop a fight.

They were alone.

Jakes was looking at the kid, who was now being embraced by both his parents. Morse saw that Bright was standing beside the grandfather, the flames reflecting in his glasses as he watched the house burn. There was something reassuring and solid about Bright in that moment, just before the relatives and press got hold of him. At that moment, Morse could allow himself to think and to feel the pain that drummed in his bones from the burns on his ankles from where his socks caught fire and a stray piece of glass cut open his forearm. Later, he would be able to numb the pain with music and scotch. But not now, not yet.

A hand was placed on Morse’s shoulder, a solid weight as they watched the fire burn out. There was no squeeze or attempt to make it into something that could be excused as something trivial. The hand stayed there on his shoulder, a familiar weight.

Morse was aware that Jakes was humming under his breath, a tune Morse couldn’t remember even when he searched and searched in his vast memory vaults. Perhaps it was a lullaby or something Jakes was just making up as he went along.

The problem with his relationship with Jakes, which currently consisted of shared glances during cases, their shoulders brushing frequently as they walked down the streets and furtive touches when they were alone during stakeouts, was that it was illogical to pursue it. And yet they did. 

Morse couldn‘t rationalize what they were doing, edging closer to each other like ships at sea. It was dangerous, possibly life-threatening and would get them thrown out of the police force before they’d even realized that they’d been found out if they continued like this. But he didn’t want to stand up and walk towards the scene of the crime, or scoot on the bench so that they’d have more personal space. Surely, five more minutes sitting beside Jakes couldn’t do any harm. They were co-workers, they were exhausted and had just saved a kid’s life and each other from burning alive. Their excuse was iron-clad.

Behaving in this manner was not a logical course of action, a part of his mind reminded him as he looked the man beside him and saw that Jakes was lighting a cigarette with practiced, fluid movements. Jakes was listening to something Thursday was saying, his posture ramrod straight and attentive. Morse watched as Thursday waved at them, gesturing towards his car. It was time to go back to Oxford. 

They had managed to wrap up the case for today, and all that was left was the dreaded paperwork. They both stood up and Jakes removed his hand from Morse’s shoulder. The walk to the car was short and silent, their shoulder’s bumping as they crossed the small field, smoke trailing behind them. The smell of tobacco always clung to Jakes, even the shirts that Morse had borrowed from him when he inevitably bled through his own by ignoring his injuries. Jakes was smiling at him, clearly pleased with a good day’s work and Morse grinned back.

As they passed the crowd, Morse could hear Inspector Church muttering something along the lines of being glad that there were no big wild animals in the vicinity, such as foxes or bears as they might have proved a dangerous threat to the case. 

Morse slid into the familiar back seat of the car, listening to the conversation between Jakes and Thursday about the case and the song of the nightingale through the crack in the window that his boss hadn’t gotten around to fixing yet. He could feel himself almost dozing off, his muscles relaxing in the comfort of the back seat after Thursday had dropped Jakes off at his bed-sit.

“It’s good to have you back, Morse,” Thursday said after a long silence, “I’m not sure that Jakes would have made it out of that house on his own, and I couldn’t go inside because of my blasted lung.”

“Thank you, sir,” Morse said, straightening up in his seat and looking out the windshield at the star studded sky above Oxford.

“Besides,” Inspector Thurday said as Morse touched the handle on the door when the car parked in a street in front of his bedsit, “we need someone like you on the Force. Gotta have some variety in our lives.”

Morse managed a smile and a nod as the cool night air hit him like a freight train as he stepped out of the car. 

“See you tomorrow, sir,” Morse said, closing the door behind him. He strode towards the sidewalk, breathing in the fresh air that only seemed to exist in London at night and made his way into his bed-sit as quickly as humanly possible.

Morse sat down on his unmade bed, taking off his socks and shoes. This situation with Jakes would have to be adjusted. They’d have to stop what they were doing. It was barely a choice at all if they wanted to continue working as policemen in this day and age. Perhaps one day in the future two policemen would be able to have this sort of relationship without being in constant danger of being fired or beaten up, but that was not today. In a few decades, perhaps. Morse shook his head, unbuttoning his suit and willing himself not to finish the bottle of scotch that stood on the counter. Instead he inspected the burns on his ankles and took off his trousers and shirt without bothering to put on the only night shirt he owned.

Jakes was a person who would be able to climb the ladder, who would be able to rise in the ranks and get a good position for himself. He’d have his own separate office, and an impressive track record. Morse doubted he himself would get past being an Inspector, at most, at least if he could manage passing the Sergeant‘s exam later on.  
Morse stared out the window, listening to the sounds of the night until sleep overtook his senses and he fell on top of his duvet.

 

Distancing himself from Jakes had been going well. Morse had spent most of the morning doing paperwork in silence as Thursday talked to other officers and coughed and drank more tea than Morse thought was physically possible. Jakes was currently leaning against the doorframe, searching for cigarettes in his suit pocket. Honey colored sunshine pooled on the faded carpet, obstructed by worn curtains and several stacks of books and reports.

There was barely any air inside the office, and breathing was somewhat difficult at the moment for Morse. The soot in his lungs from yesterday’s ordeal wasn’t agreeing with him and he knocked on his chest as surreptitiously as he could to try to fix it. Morse tried to hide that he was breathing fast through his nose by hiding his face underneath his desk for a moment, as if searching for a pen on the floor.

Then Morse stood up, grimacing at the sharp pain in his head when he straightened up. His head had been pounding since he woke up despite not having a drink before bed. He remembered sitting up in his bed, the sheets sticking to his clammy skin as he tried to get his heartbeat back to normal after waking up screaming. Perhaps the world was punishing him for whatever god awful reason. He rubbed his eyes, which were still bleary despite the fact that it was almost noon.  
He opened one of the windows, relishing the cool breeze.

Jakes was looking at him like he was a particularly puzzling piece of evidence, an annoyed expression on his face.  
Lying to Jakes about his behavior would be easy, but would probably turn into a complicated web of lies that he would one day no longer be able to weave. And Jakes was a policeman, just like him and a smart one at that even though he didn’t seem to consider himself that some days. It was their job to uncover lies.

Morse ran his fingers through the unruly curls in his hair, squeezing his eyes shut. Then he looked at Jakes, who was still staring at him. Perhaps the truth would work just as well.

“Someone down the road had been cleaning their house before dawn,” Morse said, “and I had left my window open just a crack to let the air in. It was the same stuff that they used in the prison to clean the floors. So when I woke up, I thought for a moment that I was still there. It’s a bit difficult to shake off.”

Jakes patted his shoulder in a friendly manner, and moved a stack of reports from the window so that the sunshine had a better chance of shining on Morse’s desk and opened the window so that the breeze could get in properly. The scent of apple blossoms and roses lingered in the air as Morse glanced at the other officers around them, making sure that no one was paying much attention to them.

“Must be good to be back outside,” Jakes replied, his voice casual but there was something else there that Morse would have described as concern if this had been almost anyone else. 

Morse nodded, aware that Jakes had placed his hand on his upper arm for a brief moment before he swiftly stepped away and sat down at his own desk to do some more paperwork in ordert to try to uncover any information about the second suspect. When he glanced to his side, having finished a stack of papers, he saw a faint smile on Jakes‘ face. 

A few hours later, Jakes dragged Morse inside a records store when they were supposed to be on their lunch break. Thursday had told them that the man who had burned down the house had told them all sorts of information about his partner, including a fondness for music and Agatha Christie novels.

“The suspect might come in here since he likes music so much,” Jakes said as he closed the door behind them. “Go and browse, I’ll watch the door.”

“Staying on the street seems like-“ Morse began.

“Look,” Jakes said, “if he comes in here and wants to talk about the kind of music he likes, I won’t be of any use. You’re the one who knows about all that stuff on this team. There is no way we can get any good information out of him if he realizes that I don’t know anything about that Wagner fellow.”  
“Right,” Morse replied, “maybe we’ll even find something that we can bring up when we bump into him later on, I haven’t listened to that record Thursday said he was talking about…”

“Try and find it,” Jakes said, looking oddly pleased with himself. “There must be a reason why he keeps going on about it.”

True to his word, Jakes kept an eye on the door while he pretended to browse through the most popular records and Morse eventually found a good copy of the record he desired and paid for it. 

Their next stop was a small second hand bookshop hidden in between a restaurant and a bakery. It was the sort of shop where desperate students finally found the reference book they’d been searching for in vain for the last four days straight. Every surface was covered in dictionaries, poetry books and reference books. Dust lay on everything like a very large blanket and the shelves were crammed with all kinds of paperbacks and hardcover versions of the classics. The air was thick with the scent of ink and parchment and old tea. After a while Morse emerged with a stack of paperbacks of Christie’s most popular works as Jakes interrogated the owner and shop assistants if they had seen the suspect. Morse dug around in his pockets for the money, looking at the shadows in the far end of the shop just in case someone was hiding in them. He paid for the books and followed Jakes outside.

“Why are you doing this?” Morse asked as they left the store and Jakes had just handed him one of two apples that he’d apparently been carrying in his pockets, already having taken a large bite of his own apple.

“You wanted a whole fruit basket?” Jakes asked back, looking at the fruit in Morse’s hand. “You know we don’t get that much pay. You gotta understand that there are limits in life, Morse.”

“No,” Morse said, inspecting the apple before taking a bite as they walked down the street, “you are acting strange. Did Thursday ask you to look after me or something?”

Jakes shrugged, throwing the apple core into a nearby trash bin.

“It’s no fun at work without you around,” Jakes said, “and I wanted to make sure you didn’t get horribly injured on my watch and had to steal one of my shirts again because yours was ruined.”  
Morse smiled at him and they continued walking, their movements careful as they made their way back to the station. They fell into place automatically by each other’s side without noticing a thing. It was just another day working for the Oxford City Police.

“That’s how it works,” Jakes said quietly as their shoulders brushed, “I look after you, and you look after me.”

“Yes,” Morse replied, his voice just as low, just as confidential. They were hidden from view by a truck on the sidewalk which was empty. No one could see their expressions. This moment would never be captured by a photograph or recorded. But it lingered in their memories for a long time after it had passed.

The station was the same as when they left it. Morse placed the record and the stack of paperbacks on his desk, aware of Thursday’s eyes on his as his superior walked towards his desk. They would be fine. They’d just keep a very low profile and hide in plain sight. They were young men who had some success. They’d solved very complicated cases and arrested murderers and thieves and miscreants. They were useful to the force. Perhaps they weren’t irreplaceable, but they were doing a good job.

“Bright wants a word with you two,” Thursday said, gesturing between Jakes and Morse. They stood up from their desks in unison, aware of the worried line between Thursday’s eyebrows and harsh breathing that would turn into a cough in a few minutes.

“Right,” Jakes said, straightening his back even more, “let’s hope that he’s found something for us-“

“Be careful, both of you,” Thursday continued, his voice low. He glanced at the officers around them, and Morse could see Strange averting his eyes, a frown on his face before he walked out the doorway as if he was running away from something.

Crossing the room took no time at all, but Morse could feel every eye on him as he followed Jakes into the Superintendent’s office. Thursday’s words echoed in his mind as they drew closer, and he could feel his thoughts grind to a halt. He swallowed, watching Jakes smoking with a mildly interested look on his face, clearly relaxed at the prospect of talking to the boss. He’d know how this sort of thing goes, Morse reminded himself. Jakes had been stationed here for a longer period of time.


	2. Chapter 2

The door to Bright’s office was ajar but Morse knocked on the door just in case. Jakes stood beside him, his eyes already scanning the interior of the room they were about to enter. Smoke from his cigarette trailed towards the ceiling.

“Come in, come in!” said Bright’s voice from within the office.

The office was dark and silent in comparison to the shared office space they had just left, and the scent of cigarettes and expensive shaving cream hung in the air. 

The Superintendent was seated behind his desk, but stood up as soon as they entered. He hurried towards the door, each step careful but leisurely and Morse was reminded for a brief moment that once upon a time, Bright has just been another policeman just like them. Bright closed the door carefully, and then stood there for a long moment, clearly making certain that no one was eavesdropping.

Then he looked up as if he had just remembered where and who he was and stalked towards his desk.

“Please sit down, gentlemen,” he said, using the same kind tone Morse had heard him use when handling particularly frightened victims. They sat down in the highly uncomfortable wooden chairs which were probably designed for practicality and maximum back pain. Bright returned to his seat, wringing his hands and adjusting his glasses with a small cough before he spoke again.

“It’s important to look after each other, as you both know,” Bright began, placing his pen on the desk as if making an important decision. “We try our best to look after our own in this establishment, or at least I like to think that we do.”

Jakes nodded, and Morse swallowed as he felt relief flooding his veins. So this was going to be a lecture on the importance of friendship and brotherhood in the police force. Well, that was just fine. They’d have a story to tell Thursday, and Bright would be pleased that they would listen to him talk.

“But you must understand that not everyone thinks like I do. There are people in this police station that I am not certain share many of my views and could be dangerous if provoked. My colleagues down at Scotland Yard have told me stories about a well-known Sergeant who beat a man who was being held in custody to death because of his own hatred of that particular sort of person. You understand where I am going, don’t you?” Bright continued and there was the faintest hint of sorrow in his eyes, just for a second.

“People can be very cruel, sir,” Morse answered.

“Yes, Constable,“ replied Bright, rubbing his hands together as if he was cold, “they can. Now, I know that one does not choose how one dreams or who one fall in love with. It would be so much easier if it were so. But I must ask you two to be as discreet as you possibly can, hmm?”

Morse’s stomach dropped and he could feel Jakes tense up beside him in his seat. It was as if an ice cold bucket of water had been poured over his head. He could feel himself becoming pale and gripped the wooden seat of his chair so that they wouldn’t shake visibly.

“It’s all right,” Bright said, his voice soothing and calm, “you are perfectly safe. I won’t do anything to cause you any harm or allow anyone to lay a hand on either of you. Just try to be careful, yes?”

“Yes, sir,” Jakes said, “thank you, sir.”

Morse nodded, unable to find any words to express the hurricane of emotions smashing together in his mind as he stood up from his chair alongside Jakes when Bright’s hand moved towards his inner pocket for his cigarettes.

Bright’s hand stilled and he looked straight into Morse’s eyes. Morse didn’t know what the Superintendent was looking for, or even seeing at that moment. Whatever he found, it made him close his eyes with a small, touched smile that lasted only for a fraction of a second. Bright made a tiny head movement as if he’d realized something and looked at Jakes, who was as still as a statue.

“Splendid,” Bright said, signaling the ending of this meeting just as footsteps could be heard outside the office. “Don’t let me keep you from your duties.”

Morse and Jakes left the office, Jakes lighting a cigarette as he walked. There was an odd look on Jakes' face, as if was trying to be angry but losing the battle because he was so relieved.

 

A few minutes later, Inspector Thursday came into the office, where Bright was standing at the window. He was smoking in an agitated manner, blowing the smoke out quickly through his nose.

“Everything all right, sir?” Thursday asked, leaning on the desk with his hand. He'd seen his Sergeant and Constable's pale faces and the nervous gestures as they'd returned.

“Quite so, Thursday,” Bright answered, “I’m sure everything will turn out just fine. They are good, decent men. They’ll be remembered long after we’ve faded from memory.”

“Let’s hope we’ve taught them something along the way,” Thursday said, looking at Bright, who was still standing very still at the window as if he was waiting for something or someone to strike. “We’ll live on in their work and memories. I know that I wouldn’t be the same if I’d been mentored by someone else than my governor.”

“Perhaps you are right,” Bright said, finally turning from the window and putting out his cigarette on the crystal ashtray. “I advised that they watch each other’s backs. These are difficult times we live in. It’s important to know who you can trust.”

“You can never be too careful about that,” Thursday said, already wheezing a bit. “Evidence going missing, classified information being leaked to the press and officers betraying each other’s trust is becoming far more common nowadays than when I started out.”

“Yes,” Bright said, his voice steady, “we’ve got to ensure that they are safe from harm.”

And then Thursday looked up at the movement on the edge of his vision when Bright moved his neck to the side. He’d never seen that look on Bright’s face before as the man looked into the distance, focused on a memory beyond his reach. The Superintendent’s grip on the back of his chair was so tight that his knuckles glowed white in the dark room. He’d seen Bright shout and raise his voice with cold fury in every line in his face, but he’d never seen this. Bright’s eyes were as cold and terrifying behind his glasses as the depths of the ocean and his voice was perfectly steady as he spoke, all movements calculated and precise. Gone was the mildly amusing boastful and slightly theatrical man he was used to seeing every day in the office, talking to the men and taking care of paperwork and politics. Thursday had the unnerving feeling that this was what happened when you stripped away all the careful layers the man had spent decades arranging around himself and that he was finally seeing the core. All the stories he’d heard thrown around about this man’s past in the C Police didn’t feel like strange or even foolish exaggerations any longer. They sounded true. 

It dawned on Thursday that you needed to be a brilliant policeman in the first place to get to this position, this high in the rank. Bright was nothing more or less than a small man who had always been too bold to truly know when to stop, even if he tried his hardest to please everyone around him.  
“Yes, sir,” Thursday said, “we’ll try our best.”

Bright didn’t snap back to attention. Instead he continued looking out the window in silence. Inspector Thursday stood up and joined him for a while. When he left, Bright glanced in his direction with a tiny smile. Thursday closed the door carefully behind him and went on his way.

 

Jakes and Morse walked back to their desks in complete silence, ignoring the curious glances from their co-workers. The sun slid over the room and they filled in their paperwork. They didn’t stop working, they didn’t even look at each other.

Morse could feel his heart beating loudly in his chest as he read over the witness report for the fifth time, not absorbing one word. He stood up after a few more tries to make himself a cup of tea as Jakes threw his empty cigarette packet in the wastepaper bin.  
Morse had no idea how much time had passed since they’d left Bright’s office, and glanced around the room to take stock of how many officers were present. His own footsteps echoed in his ears and he could hear every small scratch of every single pen on paper as he made his way through the room, every low hum of understanding or frustration, every flick of lighters and the taps of cigarettes on ashtrays. The sound of typing grated and he picked up his pace, heading for the break room in the back.

The little room was quiet as Morse poured the tea, having already prepared it so mechanically that he’d barely noticed his movements. The cup was old and faded, but it didn’t have any cracks in it. He’d already poured a second cup for Jakes when he’d realized what he’d done. 

They’d have to create some distance between them because if someone like Bright had already noticed them enough to call them to his office in order to tell them to be discreet it meant that they were on such thin ice that it was a miracle that they were still on top of the ice at all. He poured the tea in the second cup down the sink, watching the liquid seep away.

The door opened and hit the wall with a loud clang as Constable Strange came inside the kitchen with a curious expression on his face and Morse felt something inside him go very still. He was still holding the second cup in his hand while the other one sat on the counter, the smell intoxicating. He’d forgotten to eat breakfast, as usual so longing for any kind of nourishment was understandable. He was aware that Strange was still watching him, not quite willing himself to come closer.

Morse began to clean the cup in a businesslike fashion. The cold water from the tap washed over his hands as he made sure all traces of tea were washed away. He scrubbed the cup with the dish brush, intent on leaving no evidence behind. He looked into the sink, which was half-full of dirty teacups and saucers and began washing them too so that he wouldn’t have to strike a proper conversation with Strange after what had happened before he’d headed out to Blenheim Vale.

“Bright told you to go on clean-up duty?” Strange asked, his voice hesitant but clearly watching Morse with interest. Morse could see that he was trying to look over his shoulder to see if there were any biscuits left in the woven basket in the corner of the counter. There were none, but Morse had glimpsed Dr. DeBryn’s secret stash of homemade shortbread when he had been looking for the good tea in the cupboards. There was no disbelief in Strange’s tone, and in moments like these Morse wondered what Strange saw when he looked at him.

“Not really,” Morse answered, shrugging. “There were just a lot of dirty dishes and I could as well wash them while my tea was cooling. Better to face things head on, after all.”  
There was a short silence, only interrupted by the sound of clean porcelain being placed on the counter.

“Right,” Strange said, coughing slightly and turning the other way, having abandoned his apparent search for tea and digestives. Morse finished washing and drying all the cups and saucers, listening intently to the sounds of the main office before he hurried back to his desk with his tea.  
Jakes looked up when Morse sat back down at his desk and began thumbing through Appointment With Death by Agatha Christie.

“The other suspect might try to re-create a scene or a murder,” Jakes said, looking pensive as he pointed at the novels. “Hand me one of these.”

Morse handed him a copy of Wasp’s Nest, which left only two other books on the desk. Both were in bad condition, one having seemingly been dropped in the bath, obscuring the title but still showing a picture of an island. The other one had been almost ruined and was covered in coffee stains.

“Even if it is just a reference,” Morse said, turning a page, “it would be good if we were both aware of at least the gist of the main plots and characters.”

“A little old lady and a man with a mustache who looks like a penguin,” Jakes said, inspecting the blurb on the back of the paperback. “At least there is some respect for the professionals in these.”  
“Thursday told me that he once heard Inspector Church call Bright: “Inspector Lestrade if he’d been shipped overseas instead of meeting Sherlock Holmes.”"

“Well, I suspect that Inspector Lestrade was smarter than he let on,” Jakes said quietly, “even if he was a bit prickly in the beginning he must have known it was them who broke into Charles Augustus Milverton’s house he let them go anyway. He must have had to fight for their right to wander around Britain solving mysteries alongside or without the local law enforcement even if it was just in his own station.”

“Hm,” Morse said, “you’re right. It can’t have been easy in those days.”

There was a long silence, in which they both read their respective novels and occasionally made notes. The room was empty by now, and the only sound that could be heard was Bright’s voice as he spoke to someone on the telephone.

“Come on,” Jakes said smoothly, already half way across the room. “It’s time to go home. Thursday has already left, and he told me to make sure you went home before sunset. Can’t have you overworking yourself, can we?”

Morse wanted to argue that he could stay here and read his way through all the novels in one night and be ready with all sorts of potential clues by morning. But Jakes was grinning, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Morse smiled back, aware that no one would see their expressions or deduce anything from their comments.

Morse gathered the novels into a neat stack and placed them underneath his arm before grabbing his coat. He felt oddly light as he walked beside Jakes, who was smoking leisurely underneath the calm night sky. The moonlight was reflected in Jakes’s eyes as he made several jokes and told Morse about some mishaps he’d witnessed as a Police Constable.  
It seemed like barely any time had passed at all when Morse had let Jakes into his bed-sit, offering him a cup of tea.

As soon as the door closed it was like someone had flicked a switch in Jakes’ mind as his expression had become determined and yet alarmed. He was barely a few inches away from Morse’s face, not having bothered to move towards one of the chairs or the window.

Morse could feel his back hit the wall with a thud, and Jakes grabbing the lapels of his jacket. The kiss was more teeth and noses bumping awkwardly than anything else. Their bodies were pressed together as they clung to each other, chests brushing as they moved. When Morse pulled away for some air, Jakes’ hair was a mess and his eyes were wild.  
The second kiss was infinitely better, their noses no longer bumped and they fit together better. Morse could smell the last remains of Jakes’ aftershave and expensive fabric softener instead of the consistent aroma of cigarettes and tea. Jakes was holding him tightly, barely noticing that Morse’s hands were ruining his hairstyle completely. But it was also far, far worse because there was no way to write it off as a strange sort of dream, it was reality and proof of how long they’d been doing this. There had never been a second kiss before. There had only been a series of single desperate kisses in alleyways and on stakeouts after periods of flirting and some fondling.  
Jakes pulled away, seemingly gathering his thoughts as he looked at Morse. He didn’t step away, but tried to flatten his hair, to no avail.

“We’ve got to stop doing this,” Jakes said, gesturing between himself and Morse. He’d said this before. He’d said it almost every time something like this occurred.

Morse looked at Jakes and every single detail about him from his voice to the color of his socks, committing this moment to memory just in case nothing like this would ever happen again.

“If someone had to find us out, maybe it’s good that it was Bright,” Morse heard himself say, “but we can’t afford that anyone else might realize what’s been going on. We just can’t.”

Jakes looked at him for a long moment before lighting yet another cigarette.

“So that’s decided then,” he said as he was trying to convince himself of something that he had a hard time believing, “we’ll go cold turkey. We’ll stop. Just like shutting off the radio.”

“Everything changes and fades,” Morse said, “our lives are never the same from day to day after all…”  
They’d been living in dream. It was time to return to the reality of their lives. They’d never been made to last anyway. It was just a temporary arrangement in a time and a situation that allowed nothing else for men like them.

“We had a good run,” Jakes said, “didn’t we?” 

“Yes,” Morse said, placing his hand carefully on Jakes’ shoulder. “We did. We really did.”  
His heart was thumping painfully in his chest and swallowed convulsively because his throat had become dry in the space of a second.  
It was the only sensible thing to do. It was the only option they really had.

Jakes turned to him, the corner of his mouth turning up for a fraction of a second as if he was forcing himself to smile and leaned towards him as if searching his face for something. His face was pale in the moonlight and immeasurably sad as he stepped away.

“See you in the morning, Morse,” Jakes said and turned on his heel. The door closed behind him.  
He was aware of the prick of tears behind his eyelids at the sound of footsteps on the carpet outside and sat down on his bed. His breathing was harsh, and Morse squeezed his eyes shut but that didn’t stop a few tears running down his cheeks no matter how much he rubbed his eyes and tried to block out all emotions. He'd always known that this would end like this. 

After a while, he put on a record he knew by heart and picked up the first book in the stack he had brought home from work and began to read where he’d left off. There wouldn’t be any sleep to be had tonight anyway. He glanced at the half-empty scotch bottle on the counter but decided against it. He’d have to have his wits about him tomorrow if he wanted to make it out alive.


	3. Chapter 3

When Jakes came to the station in the morning the sun was shining, the birds were singing and Thursday was practically having a shouting match with Inspector Church.

“Your Constable accused me of withholding knowledge about the case and assaulted me!” Inspector Church shouted, throwing his hat on a nearby desk.

“He asked you if you had any prior encounters with the suspects and asked you to catch a teddy bear that one of them had in his possession so that you could identify it!” Thursday said loudly, gesturing towards the brown teddy bear on the floor which was missing one eye and had its own hat.

“He’s nothing but a meddling nobody who should be fired!” Inspector Church replied, his tone becoming increasingly higher, “I know what he really is-“

“You were helping them. It’s all in the files now, Inspector,” Morse said quietly, “They’ve been very forthcoming about their relationship with you when the realized that we’d caught both of them already. They’ve told us everything, for example that they’ve been giving you insider information for years on end and in return you haven’t arrested them for their crimes.”

“I saved them! They’d be dead without me and they know it!” Inspector Church screamed, red spots appearing high on his cheeks, turning towards Morse and grabbing his collar, “I dragged all of us to safety on that island; I played along when Scotland Yard showed up at the scene of the crime. I survived their endless questions, even the trial without as scratch and now you have the sheer gall to-“

“Played along?” Thursday asked, his voice hard. “All those bodies at the crimes scene-“

“Someone had to take care of the old judge and that despicable woman,” Inspector Church said, throwing all deniability out the window. “Someone had to do something.”

“You were their inside man,” Jakes said as Church let go of Morse as if he’d burned his hands, who looked like he was ready to walk through hell if it meant dragging the Inspector down with him. “They’ve been getting away with murdering innocent people for years because of you.”

“You’re Detective Sergeant Blore,” Morse said, “who got away from the island, or the scene of the crime or whatever you want to call it. You’re a merciless, unrepentant version of him who survived and continued to do damage.”

“Are you any better?” Inspector Church asked, looking Morse up and down from the cheap shirt and worn but sensible suit to the slightly scuffed shoes. “At least I know that I am a monster. It takes one to know one in this job. They owed me and I exploited that, tell me that you haven’t done something similar.”

That was a confession if Jakes had ever heard one.

There was the jingling sound of handcuffs as Thursday stepped forward and Jakes could see Bright nodding with a grim expression on his face.

Jakes watched Thursday and Bright escort Church into one of the interrogation rooms. A cup of scalding tea was pushed into his hands, just as he liked it. Morse was smiling in that particular way he did when they’d solved a tough case, holding a faded copy of one of the Agatha Christie books.

“It’s always nice to wrap up a case early in the morning,” Morse said, sipping his own tea.

“Is that the one where ten people are lured to an island and are offed one by one by the judge?” Jakes asked, gesturing toward the book in Morse’s hand.

Morse made a small affirmative sound in the back of his throat, draining his cup.

“There is no detective coming to or solve the case and no hope of escape for the people on the island,” Morse said, “and Blore dies in a situation involving a bear. I was just making sure that Inspector Church identified enough with the fictional policeman to be wary of bears.”

“Strange, though,” Jakes said, “must have been pretty damn jumpy already if he reacted like that to a soft teddy bear.”

“Probably couldn’t stand the pressure any longer,” Morse said. “We were already circling around his mates and he couldn’t be sure what they’d said.”

“Well, Thursday’s got him now,” Jakes replied, “we’ll get all the information we need soon enough. He’s already given himself away.”

“Yes,” Morse said, “I never even got around to listening to the record. It might still hold a few clues that will help the case along.”

They sat down at their desks and Morse began typing and Jakes answered the telephone. Around an hour later, Thursday showed up with very pleased expression on his face and told them to continue working until lunch, tying up any loose ends.

On his way outside to take a bit of a break, Jakes passed by Bright’s office and heard Thursday’s voice. His superior’s voice was measured and careful and he felt a bit guilty for eavesdropping, but that was just one of the tools of the trade.  
Jakes slowed his pace, lingering in the hallway as he pretended to rummage around for his cigarettes in case any of the other officers would see him.

“Giving them the night off would be a good idea, hmmm?” Jakes heard Bright say, and he could imagine him seated behind the desk or standing at the window as Thursday looked on. “They did a commendable job on this case and have solved many complex murder cases together.”

“Well, sir,” Thursday said, “the other officers might not like that. It would bring attention to them and favoritism is never-“

“They will have to deal with an onslaught of attention tomorrow when the County Police will show up and we’ll have to go through years of evidence in order to be able to understand just how bad the situation with Inspector Church has become,” Bright said. “We’ll have to find every criminal he sided with and protected as well as the sources for the bribes I’ve heard he’s taken and so on. Let them have tonight, Thursday.”

“So you believe that this is the calm before the storm, sir?” Thursday asked. Jakes could imagine him reaching for his hat. “And that we must use it to gather our strength?”

“Indeed,” Bright said, “we must all be able to put our best foot forward tomorrow when we are to be interviewed and other policemen will inspect our officers and station. There is no use doing that when they both look exhausted, yes?”

“Of course, sir,” Thursday said. Jakes could hear the faint wheeze in his voice as his superior stood up and Jakes continued walking. The air outside was cool and the sun was high in the air.

A few minutes later, when he’d almost finished his cigarette there was a whisper of cloth and the familiar scent of soap and paper with a hint of scotch. It was the smell he’d always associate with Morse, even later on In life when they hadn’t seen each other in years. He would walk inside a book shop or a pub and the memories would surround him like a warm blanket.

Morse was smiling and looking at the flowers and the bright blue sky above them. And if Jakes stepped a bit closer when they leaned against the wall and Morse grinned in response, who was to blame them?  
Perhaps this was just a temporary arrangement, but there was no sense in refusing to enjoy it while it lasted. And they did.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are several references to the novel _And Then There Were None_ by Agatha Christie as well as the BBC 2015 adaption. A character named Detective Sergeant Blore plays an important part in that story.
> 
> Rather proud of this story, as I did quite a lot of research, for example on the most popular UK biscuits and various minor details.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment if you liked the story! :D


End file.
